Breaking the Ice (Timberwolves #1)

by Lizzy Ripp

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  The VIP Club

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  VIP Club

  Review Request

  Breaking the Ice:

  A Slow Burn Sports Romance

  The Timberwolves #1

  By

  Lizzy Ripp

  Copyright © Lizzy Ripp

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,

  Including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  LR Publishing

  983 East Hastings Street

  Vancouver V6A 1R9

  Canada

  www.lizzyripp.com

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  To all the boys I’ve loved and the one I love the most.

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS NOT uncommon in the course of Julia Delroy’s working day for her to witness at least two - sometimes as many as twelve - grown men beat the absolute stuffing out of each other. She always watched with both fascination and dread. After all, it was Julia who’d have to deal with the fallout of whatever occurred. Nine times out of ten it was fine. Everyone left with some excess energy burned off and things could proceed as usual. But that tenth time…

  How did I wind up here again? She wondered, and not for the first time. She’d gone to school for Marketing and Communications, graduated in the top 5% of her class and now here she was, making excuses for a bunch of adult children who injured each other on purpose with startling regularity. Professional hockey was an adventure she’d never anticipated taking part in, and definitely not on this scale.

  She always went out on the ice for this first part of the game, just to be sure there wasn’t going to be something especially gruesome to report, and if she was lucky, nothing gruesome at all. Luckily, Yaro Sharapova was on his best behavior tonight. He was the one she had to make excuses for the most. She watched as Yaro skated by, zipping past with stunning speed, flanked by members of the Canadian opposing team (was it Calgary?) yapping in his ear all the while. Upstart new recruits, just up from the Juniors, who hadn’t quite learned to mind their manners around their elders yet.

  “Don’t even think about it!” Yelled Jerry, the much-beleaguered coach, as Yaro whizzed by, inclining his head to listen with curiosity to whatever the kid was mouthing off about. “We’re down two players! I need you this period, keep your big Russian blockhead in the game!” As usual, Jerry looked as if he were on the verge of an aneurysm.

  Yaro didn’t seem to take much notice of the histrionics, but skated away from the kid, yelling back what Julia was fairly sure was anything but a cordial goodbye. He never could let anyone else have the last word.

  After this close call, things seemed to be proceeding smoothly. The crowd was amped, although slightly irritated at being denied a fight so early on in the game, and the music was blaring. With a sigh of relief, Julia turned around and headed back to the Media Office overlooking the ice. Maybe it was going to be a quiet night. She could certainly use it.

  After all, it’s not every week you get dumped spectacularly. Not just dumped, but abandoned quite publicly for an Instagram influencer who splashed the evidence thereof all over her account.

  Not my best week, she reflected grimly.

  She made her way into the relative quiet of her office (after all, triple-glazed glass could only do so much) above the locker room. It was now mostly empty, all the workers lucky enough to do the typical nine-to-five hours having gone home hours ago. She settled into her chair gazing out at the ice and watched the game for a bit as she booted up her laptop. They were ahead, and even more so now, she noted with some satisfaction, as Yaro viciously checked an opposing player who went sprawling head over heels, allowing Jonathan Ouellet to score with ease.

  Though she wasn’t a huge fan of violence, she had to admit there was something attractive about the way Yaro dominated the ice. He was big, 6’4 and probably twice her weight at least, but he moved gracefully, like a big cat, and when he honed in on a target, it was like watching a lion take down prey. Gruesome, but undeniably fascinating.

  Too bad he lost any sense of grace, at least interpersonal grace, the moment he stepped off the ice. As the Social Media and Communications manager for the team, Yaro Sharapova was the biggest thorn in her side. He never, ever made her job easy.

  He had made a name for himself in the league as a vicious enforcer - a goon - and off the ice, unfortunately, he was as much a goon as on. Since she’d taken over the role three years prior, she couldn’t count the number of public excuses she’d had to make for him.

  Not that he was grateful in the least.

  “Not a big deal or anything,” she grumbled to herself, contemplating the game. “I’m only responsible for making sure you don’t get deported.”

  “Looks like it’s going to be a quiet one.” Julia was startled out of her reverie by her colleague Christina, who was in charge of Public Relations. “Thank god.”

  “Tell me about it,” Julia said, turning to Christina and waving her into the office. “Yaro seems to be on his best behavior, and with Damon and St. Pierre out that’s most of my trouble taken care of.”

  Christina was eyeing her in the way that people did when they knew more than they were letting on. Julia sighed mentally. So she’d seen the Instagram posts too.

  “Christina,” she said blandly. “Spare me the pity. I can see it written all over your face. Yes, Daniel and I broke up. Yes, he’s taken up with Sasha Lux - real name, if you’re curious, is Magda Marshall. I can’t imagine why she changed it. Yes, I’m fine. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Christina took all this in and silently offered up a Starbucks latte, which almost sent Julia into a spiral of tears.

  “I got the extra shot of vanilla, just like you like.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said, her shoulders sagging. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in days. She felt her chin start to quiver and quickly took a sip of the bracingly hot liquid to stem the flow of tears that threatened.

  I do not cry at work. I will not cry at work. There is no crying in hockey.

  For a moment, the two of them simply slurped on their drinks and watched the men zoom about below them.

  "It's real
ly not fair that he should be so graceful out there and like a bull in a china shop in every other facet of my job," Christina said glumly, staring at the ice. And though she hadn't identified the man in question, Julia knew instantly who her coworker meant.

  "Making your life difficult again, is our Mr. Sharapova?" She asked lightly, taking a sip of her drink. "At least he's given me the night off."

  "Er... Yeah. About that," Christina began, and Julia's blue eyes narrowed. She immediately set her drink down.

  "Chris, did you just try to bribe me with Starbucks? What do you want from me?" She asked.

  "I need your help with something," Christina began, her tone apologetic. Never a good beginning. "Did you read the Herald this weekend?"

  "No. I spent this weekend crying in a tub of Ben & Jerry's with The Holiday playing on repeat, actually. Why, what did I miss?" Julia asked, acerbically.

  "Well...", Christina said, hesitating. "Our favorite Russian had quite the weekend."

  "Oh god," Julia sighed, downing the rest of her coffee in a single gulp. She could tell it was going to be the last relaxing part of her night.

  "Well. He started by getting tossed from the Roxy for getting in a fight. He wound up in the drunk tank - although he swore up and down in several languages to me that he was not, in fact, drunk. And to put the cherry on top, he was photographed in a less than flattering light on both occasions. There was a huge article about it," Christina went on, as if it were something Julia really should have known about. Truth be told, she probably should have. But her breakup with Daniel had been pretty much Julia’s entire focus. She'd spent the weekend refreshing Sasha Lux's Instagram page, alternately scoffing in indignation and crying.

  "Anyway. The League has told me on no uncertain terms to rein him in. Or at least make it look like we're doing something. And as our Media and Communication guru...I could really use your help." Christina was smiling at her ingratiatingly now. Julia fought the urge to roll her eyes.

  "What do you have in mind?" She was exhausted already. She silently willed her coffee to magically refill itself.

  "We need to put him on a goodwill media push," Christina said. "Public opinion is turning against him. I mean, this might have been cute when he was an eighteen-year-old from Russia, but he's past thirty now. This act is getting as old as he is. Nobody wants a bad boy once they become a bad man."

  Julia nodded. She had to admit her interactions with Yaro had never been what you might call ‘pleasant’. He was usually incredibly cold and disinterested, often arrogant, and on almost every occasion completely dismissive of her and her job. Not to mention being ever so charmingly and casually misogynistic.

  "Did Jerry sign off on this?"

  Christina nodded. "Oh yeah. Not just Jerry. Clive."

  Julia's eyes widened. Things were serious then if the General Manager was getting involved. "God," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What do they have in mind? Make a Wish tours? Soup kitchens? Black tie benefit? Give me some direction here."

  "It's going to be a little bit more than that, I'm afraid. We've got something kind of... interesting in mind."

  Julia looked up, cocking an eyebrow.

  "Enlighten me."

  CHAPTER TWO

  "YOU WANT ME to orchestrate a fake relationship between Yaro Sharapova and Cassie West? Are you kidding me?" Julia felt like laughing. But not in a happy way. It was more like the kind of crazed laughter that strikes some people in the aftermath of a car crash.

  "Yes," Christina said firmly. "Exactly. And before you ask," she held up a hand, "Yes, Jerry and Clive have both signed off on it. So has Cassie West. She's got the second season of her series for Netflix to promote, so it's in her best interest. And yes, Yaro knows... Sort of."

  "Sort of?" Julia asked, narrowing her eyes.

  "Er," Christina shrugged her shoulders, "Well, I mean, he knows he's on his last legs with the team. He knows he has to do whatever it takes to make amends or else he's out. He just doesn't know what 'whatever it takes' is exactly."

  Julia's face fell to the desk and she banged her forehead down rhythmically. "Why is this my life?"

  Christina's hand gently slipped between the desk and Julia's forehead, pulling her up to look in her face. "I'm sorry," she said helplessly. "I know you're going through a hard time right now, and if I could have done this on my own, I would, but I'm too recognizable. Jerry and Clive have both said I can't touch it with a ten-foot pole. It can't have any whiff of being a manufactured relationship. It needs to appear genuine. And besides," she added, her voice taking on a coaxing tone. "I've made sure it'll be worth your while."

  Julia looked up. "Talk to me."

  "I think you know that Sports Tonight has an on-air role going?" she added tantalizingly.

  "Yes," Julia said, her eyes widening. It was a dream role - but one that she was in no way about to get a nomination for. Sports Tonight only accepted recommendations from executives, and those executive's nominations were not easy to get. You had to do something really noteworthy to secure one of their coveted interviews for an on-air position, and coming with the glowing endorsement of a GM who happened to sit on the global board would certainly qualify.

  "You didn't," Julia said. Christina smiled, clearly relieved at being out of the doghouse. "You bet I did. Do this, to Jerry and Clive's satisfaction," she added quickly, "And you've got an interview with their hearty endorsement. What do you say?"

  Julia sighed deeply. "How long are you giving me to turn this image around?"

  "Three weeks," Christina said.

  "Two."

  "Two-and-a-half."

  "Two."

  Christina eyed her skeptically. "I mean, if you think you can do it in two weeks... I suppose that's fine."

  "Of course I can," Julia said, her hackles rising. "But I'll need to speak to Yaro ASAP. And Cassie ideally. After the game?"

  "Way ahead of you," Christina said, smiling. "We'll be meeting the both of them in an hour in Clive's office. Do you need time to prepare?"

  "Mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually? Yes," Julia muttered. "I'll see you then."

  —

  An hour later, Julia found herself in the uncomfortable position of being in front of her boss explaining a plan that she had only begun to formulate in earnest ten minutes before the meeting took place. Clive had asked to meet with Christina and Julia both before the stars of the show arrived, and they were seated in his plush office, with a birds' eye view over the now-empty ice. Clive swilled a glass of Scotch in its glass, only half-listening to the half-baked plan being presented.

  To Julia’s relief, Christina had been doing most of the talking, thank god. She was better at dealing with Clive., PR goddess that she was.

  "This campaign is going to be great for the team brand, Clive. Not just Yaro's," Christina assured him, leaning forward and crossing one Christian Louboutin-clad heel over her knee. "Cassie West's career in this city is set to continue for some time, and she's already made herself a local favorite. She makes sure she gets photographed at every local-loved hotspot she can. I'd love to know who her manager is," she added thoughtfully. "She's become this city's sweetheart since she moved here for Wild Rovers last year."

  "I do love that show," Clive said, making a rare contribution to the conversation. "That cliffhanger at the end of last season nearly had me chucking my drink at the television. Thank goodness Margo was there to stop me."

  Julia smiled weakly. Yes, she thought. It was rather good that your maid was there to stop you from ruining a TV that cost more than my car when you had an adult temper tantrum because of a television program.

  "Right," Christina nodded, doing her showbiz laugh. "Well, she's very keen to meet you," she said, checking her watch casually. For a moment none of them said anything, not about the chronic lateness of actors or the trials and tribulations their players put them through. They were thankfully saved from doing so by a hard and demanding knock on the door.

  Without w
aiting for an invitation, Yaro Sharapova pushed his way into the office, his hulking frame looking even more imposing up close than it had whizzing about on the ice.

  He looked around, unimpressed by the surroundings and then, spying an empty chair left for him, plonked himself into it without saying a word.

  Julia did her best not to pay him any attention, but it was difficult. Not only because he was so physically huge, but also because of how irritatingly attractive she'd always found him. Which was infuriating, of course. But that hardly changed things. His shoulders were broad, his hair a rich chestnut and closely shorn, and his face, remarkably for a hockey player, wasn't too beat up. He had eyes that challenged, that made her want to stand at full attention and give him a piece of her mind, and a stubbornly set mouth with a smile that, rare as it was, could stop traffic when unveiled. It wasn't a movie star smile by any means. Quite the opposite. It said, quite firmly, that he was up to no good and a part of her had always wanted to discover just how true that was.

  "Ah, Yaro," said Clive. "Good of you to join us. And hell of a game, by the way. I don't think Torrence will be mouthing off like that again for quite some time."

  "Not until his dental work is complete, anyway," Yaro said with the barest trace of a smile.

  Loathsome. Julia and Christina exchanged dark looks to which Yaro paid no attention.

  Clive, however, laughed and slapped a hand on his desk, rocking back and forth.

  "Very good, very good. A Scotch?"

  "Yes, I would like a Scotch", Christina said loudly. "Thanks for offering, Clive."

  Clive and Yaro both looked at her as if she'd sprouted another head.

  "I'm sure Julia would like one too," she said sweetly.